The center arena was alive with electricity. The crowd's cheers thundered through the massive coliseum, a sea of avatars leaning forward, anticipation gripping them as the main stage battle was about to begin. The spotlights rotated, illuminating the two combatants standing opposite each other on the scarred battlefield—the very ground where countless warriors had fallen before.

  On the left, Drevan Cole, The Heavy Tank, stood motionless, his black-iron plate armor absorbing the light. The massive greatsword rested across his shoulders, glinting with a faint crimson glow, as if hungering for the fight ahead.

  On the right, cloaked in the shadows, stood Sickblade Dawson. His obsidian leather armor, stitched with strands of enchanted silk, barely rustled as he shifted. The glowing green etching on his bladed gauntlets pulsed with venomous intent, his face obscured beneath a hood that cast his identity into darkness.

  They were warriors of the Dark Assassins Clan, one of the most feared clans in Another Life VR. And tonight—only one would walk away victorious.

  Hexa (Private Chat): "So, uh… am I the only one feeling like this is about to be a straight-up assassination attempt?"

  Byte (Private Chat): "It’s like watching two apex predators in the wild. Who’s gonna flinch first?"

  Shiro (Private Chat): "Damn, they’re both from Dark Assassins? That explains a lot."

  Dani's gaze flicked toward Vessa, who had remained quiet—watching, analyzing. Finally, she typed.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "They don’t just hand out membership to Dark Assassins. These two are the first new members in two years. This battle isn’t just about rankings—it’s a proving ground. Their clan leaders are watching. If one of them loses too easily, it’s… shameful."

  Dani (Private Chat): "Wait. So this is bigger than just the tournament?"

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Oh, much bigger. Winning means earning their place permanently. Losing means… well, let’s just say the Dark Assassins don’t tolerate weakness."

  Dani swallowed. She could feel the weight of this match now—the intensity radiating from the two fighters was palpable.Then—

  SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT: "CENTER ARENA MATCH BEGINNING: DREVAN COLE VS. SICKBLADE DAWSON!"

  The bell rang. DING!

  And the fight began.

  Drevan moved first, his greatsword cleaving through the air like a descending executioner’s axe. Sickblade vanished. One moment he was there. The next, he was gone.

  The crowd gasped as Drevan’s blade crashed into the ground, sending shockwaves through the arena, carving a deep trench into the stone. Sparks erupted from the impact, but Sickblade was nowhere in sight.

  Drevan (World Chat): "Coward. Fight me head-on."

  A whisper of movement. Then—Sickblade reappeared behind him, daggers flashing.

  Sickblade (World Chat): "I don’t fight fools. I eliminate them."

  The first strike landed—a glancing cut across Drevan’s shoulder plate, a wound that shouldn’t have been significant—except for the venom now coursing through his HP bar. Drevan snarled. He spun, bringing his gauntleted fist forward, attempting to crush the smaller assassin in one blow. But Sickblade was already gone again.

  Hexa (Private Chat): "Damn. Dawson’s got speed, but Cole’s too sturdy. That armor’s tanking all those hits like they’re paper cuts."

  Byte (Private Chat): "Sickblade’s draining him. Look at his HP decay."

  Dani checked the stats. Sickblade had inflicted four poison stacks already.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Yeah, but Drevan's health bar barely moved. He's playing the long game."

  As the arena lights flickered, Drevan shifted tactics. Instead of chasing shadows, he stood still. Waiting. Taunting. Then, the ground trembled. Drevan’s armor runes flared, and a shockwave exploded outward, disrupting all stealth abilities within a 10-meter radius.

  And there—Sickblade reappeared mid-step, caught off guard. Drevan lunged forward, bringing the full force of his greatsword down like a falling meteor.

  Sickblade had no escape. He did the only thing he could—he met power with precision. At the exact moment Drevan’s greatsword connected, Sickblade’s bladed gauntlets found flesh—one across Drevan’s side, the other sinking deep into his gut.

  For a second, they were locked together. Blood splattered across the stone floor. Then—they both collapsed backward. The crowd roared, watching their health bars plummet simultaneously.

  Shiro (Private Chat): "HOLY—DID THEY JUST TAKE EACH OTHER OUT?!"

  Vessa (Private Chat): "No. Look at their health bars."

  Dani did. Drevan’s was dangerously low—but Sickblade’s was worse. This fight wasn’t over. They were both pushing through the pain, dragging themselves back up, preparing for the final clash.

  Just then—Dani caught movement in the corner of her HUD. A security guard was weaving through the crowd, moving directly toward her group. Dani tensed. Her eyes flicked to Mackiaveli, who was standing near the VIP balcony. He wasn’t watching the fight anymore.

  Instead, she saw him hand something to the guard—a small folded note. Then, without another glance, Mackiaveli turned and walked away. Her chest tightened.

  Hexa (Private Chat): "Uhh, Dani? That guard’s coming straight for us."

  Dani swallowed hard, jaw tightening as the guard reached them.

  Security Guard (World Chat): "Dani Shaw? Message delivery from Mackiaveli."

  The crowd barely noticed—all eyes were locked on the battle still raging in the center arena. Dani stared at the folded piece of paper in the guard’s hands. She didn’t move.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Byte (Private Chat): "Ohhhh no. Nope. Burn it. Destroy it. Don’t even touch it."

  Shiro (Private Chat): "Bro, chill. It’s a note, not a damn bomb."

  Hexa (Private Chat): "Dani… maybe you should read it."

  Dani’s fingers curled into a fist.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Why the hell would I do that?"

  Vessa sighed in the chat before responding.

  Vessa (Private Chat): "Because whether you hate him or not, Mackiaveli is a good man. He’s helped a lot of people, including me. You might need his help someday. At least know what it says."

  Dani clenched her teeth. Her heart was racing. She didn’t want anything from Mackiaveli. Not now. Not after everything. But…

  Slowly, reluctantly… she reached out. She took the note. The moment her fingers touched the paper, the battle in the arena erupted into its final phase. Dani exhaled sharply, her focus ripping back to the fight.

  I can’t read it now. No… Later…

  She had to read it later but was compelled to read it immediately.

  For now, she wanted to see what these two from the Dark Assassins were capable of. The battle was reaching its peak. And the battle was far from over. The arena was chaos.

  The two warriors who had already torn each other to near ruin now stood on the precipice of the fight’s final moments. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and burning mana, the stone floor scarred with battle marks, deep gashes, and patches of frozen residue where Sickblade’s poison and Drevan’s sheer strength had clashed. They were both spent.

  Drevan’s massive frame heaved with every breath, his greatsword dragging slightly, his body covered in wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding. His armor was cracked, dented, but he still stood like an unyielding mountain.

  Sickblade wasn’t much better. His movements had slowed, the poison that coated his blades had done its work, but his own energy reserves were running dry. His usually fluid steps now staggered, his gauntlets sparking as the last dregs of mana tried to keep them powered.

  The crowd was losing their minds.

  SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT: "Final Combat Phase Initiated."

  And yet—Dani barely heard it. She had to read the note right now. Her fingers clenched around the small piece of paper in her hands.

  Argh! I hate you, Mack!

  She read it once. Then again. Her mind refused to process it, like static interfering with a perfect signal.

  I'm sorry, Dani.

  I'm sorry, Sarah.

  There are things in my life that I cannot talk about. I never knew who to trust. But as I got to know you, I wanted to tell you.

  And that day, you shocked me when you told me what you felt about me.

  I mean, how you felt about me as Mackiaveli.

  At that point, I didn’t know what to do. So I tried to hint at who I was.

  Nevertheless, I was wrong. And I know that won’t change anything.

  You may hate me forever.

  But I have one more secret that I am hesitant to tell anyone else but you.

  If you can forgive me for one more moment and agree to meet me after the tournament, I will share it with you—no matter what the consequences.

  Steve McCall/ Mackiaveli.

  Her chest felt hollow like something had been scooped out of her. She wanted to crush the paper in her hand, burn it, and let it disappear into ash the way her trust in him had already disintegrated. Her head snapped up, her eyes scanning the arena stands, searching for him. But Mackiaveli was nowhere to be seen.

  Coward.

  Hexa (Private Chat): "Dani? You good?"

  She barely managed to type back.

  Dani (Private Chat): "Yeah. Just… processing."

  Byte (Private Chat): "You look like you're about to delete someone from existence. Should I be concerned?"

  Shiro (Private Chat): "Yo, uh… you DO realize you haven’t watched the last 30 seconds of this match, right?"

  Dani blinked, shaking herself back to reality—just in time to see Drevan Cole unleash one final, monstrous swing at Sickblade Dawson. Drevan roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. His greatsword ignited, not with flame, but with pure battle instinct. His armor pulsed, his runes flaring one last time, giving him the raw power to finish the fight.

  Drevan (World Chat): "YOU THINK A RAT CAN KILL A LION?!"

  Sickblade lunged forward, his bladed gauntlets glowing sickly green, his eyes cold, calculating.

  Sickblade (World Chat): "I don’t think. I just cut."

  Drevan swung down. Sickblade twisted at the last moment. The sword slammed into the ground, shattering the arena floor beneath them—a crater forming where Sickblade had been standing just a second before. And then—

  A flash of silver. A final, desperate strike. Sickblade’s dagger buried itself into Drevan’s side. Drevan froze. His greatsword slipped from his grip, clattering onto the stone. His massive frame trembled, his health bar flashing red, dropping lower… lower…

  Sickblade held the dagger there, his breath ragged, his entire body shaking from exhaustion. And then—Drevan collapsed. The arena fell silent. A second later—

  SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT: "WINNER: SICKBLADE DAWSON!"

  The crowd erupted. Dani barely reacted. Sickblade staggered, barely able to stay standing as his own health bar flickered dangerously low. Drevan was gone, his avatar derezzed from the field. Byte let out a long whistle.

  Byte (Private Chat): "Bro… that was some Death Is Coming kinda fight."

  Shiro (Private Chat): "I thought Drevan had it. But that damn poison… that shit’s brutal."

  Hexa (Private Chat): "It’s not just poison. It’s precision. Sickblade knew exactly when he’d hit the breaking point. He let Drevan burn himself out."

  Vessa (Private Chat): "That’s why he’s in Dark Assassins. And why he’ll probably be one of the deadliest players in Another Life in a year."

  Dani still wasn’t paying attention.Her fingers tightened around the note.

  A secret.

  Another one.

  Another lie.

  Her stomach churned, bile rising in the back of her throat. She was so goddamn tired of being lied to. She opened her private menu, selected Mackiaveli’s name. Hovered over the block button. Her thumb trembled.

  No. Blocking him would mean he got to run from this.

  She wasn’t letting him off that easy. If he wanted her to hear this secret so badly—then fine She’d meet him. But she wouldn’t be doing it as Sarah, the girl who trusted too easily. She’d be doing it as Dani, the girl who was about to make Mackiaveli regret everything.

  Her fingers typed one final message in private chat.

  Dani (Private Chat): "One chance. After the tournament."

  Then, without waiting for a reply, she closed her HUD. Her jaw clenched. Her heart pounded. She stared back at the arena, where Sickblade stood as the last man standing.

  Her next opponent.

  Good.

  She was ready for blood. And right now? She was just as ruthless as they were.

  This is part of a series of stories that have lived solely in my head for many years, and I’ve finally started writing them as serialized fiction books. If you think the story sucks, feel free to tell me—it’s all part of the process. That said, I’m also looking for constructive criticism, so any suggestions are welcome and will be considered as I work to improve the series.